


A Spray of Stars

by unfolded73



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in S2, and the Doctor and Rose find an intimate moment in an unlikely place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spray of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Written November 8, 2009. (LJ notes: It feels like forever since I've done this: written something spontaneously and posted it, for no purpose and without agonizing over it or getting anyone to beta it or anything. This is not the fic idea that I was talking about yesterday, although it seems to be part of a Ten-and-Rose-shag-their-way-through-history thing that my brain is feeding me lately. This came to me, wholly-formed, in the shower this morning. Inspired by a mostly-unsuccessful attempt at sexy shenanigans between Mr. Unfolded and me after the kids were awake this morning, and I suppose by _Dances with Wolves_ , which I haven't seen in years and years. No research went into this (I desperately needed to write spontaneously), so I apologize for any inaccuracies.

Perhaps it is the starlight. She's seen displays of stars this amazing, this _numerous_ before, but never on Earth. It's the time of the new moon, and there is nothing to compete with the panoply of stars that takes her breath away, here on this South Dakotan plain in the nineteenth century.

So perhaps it is the starlight that inspires him. Or perhaps it is the dress that the women of the tribe have dressed her in, all turquoise beads and feathers down the front. Perhaps it is her hair, skillfully braided by one of her new friends, and the way she tentatively touches it every now and then, sure that it is going to start falling down.

No, most likely it is the fact that this is an adventure with no vein of tragedy running through it. This trip really is a lark, the kind the Doctor always aims for and never quite gets. But this time there's no mystery to solve, no threat, nothing but hunting and sitting in sweat tents, learning to sew and laughing and eating. 

It could be any one, or all, of these things that makes the Doctor lean over and kiss her.

His lips are cool and dry, and in that first split second she quashes her excitement, certain that this is just more of the Doctor's brand of friendly affection. That is, until he opens his mouth against hers and her gasp allows his tongue entrance to her mouth. There is no question then of the passion he's feeling, and Rose can only wonder why _now_ , and why not all the hundreds of other times that she wished for this. His hands settle low on her back, pulling her close as his mouth works to melt her into a puddle.

When he finally breaks the contact, she half expects him to withdraw, to regret. But he simply smiles one of his eye-crinkly smiles at her, taking her hand and leading her back to the camp. He doesn't spoil the moment with a rambling lecture; he is content to walk and hold her hand, shooting her meaningful glances every so often. 

They spend the night laughing and dancing around the fire, and the Doctor, even though still in his brown suit and trainers, manages to blend in with the tribe, to be part of it. Rose can't take her eyes off him; she's not sure she's ever seen him so happy, so relaxed.

They have been sleeping in a large tipi, shared with others in the tribe. She climbs hesitantly under the sleeping furs, averting her eyes from him, the kiss they shared consuming her thoughts. He seems unaffected, nudging her in a silly mime of claiming his share of the sleeping space, and Rose resigns herself to the idea that the kiss hadn't necessarily meant to him what it had definitely meant to her.

He cuddles against her as he has every night that they've been here, a gesture that does not feel sexual; only that he's looking for closeness and warmth from her. Rose sighs, a sigh borne of both enjoyment of the level of intimacy they share and frustration that it isn't more.

The tent is very dark, and silent save for the rustle of other people moving around in their sleep. Or perhaps, not only sleep -- Rose hears a muffled moan from somewhere to her right, and then a very soft, feminine giggle. She tenses, listening. 

"What?" the Doctor whispers.

"Are they ...?"

He doesn't need to ask for clarification. "Yes, I imagine so. Their sleeping space is always shared; when do you think they have sex, Rose?"

Just hearing the word fall from his lips makes her thighs clench together. "Not very private," she murmurs.

"Oh, I don't know. Buried under these furs ... feels very private." His voice is pitched low, a bedroom voice that does terrible things to her. She wants to kiss him, but she's so afraid of breaking the rules. Rose loves him, and loves how close they are, and if she were to ruin it she'd never forgive herself. She has to turn away because it's all too much, and she rolls under the arm he has thrown across her waist. She needs a little space, but at the same time she can't resist snuggling against him, just a little. The Doctor's arm tightens and the length of his body is pressed against her, hip and knee and chest.

They are silent for a long time, and Rose tries not to listen to the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking coming from the other side of the sleeping space, but of course that's impossible. Just when she feels like she can't bear it anymore, the Doctor's lips make contact with her neck.

"Rather inspiring, isn't it?" he whispers, and she thinks she must've heard him wrong. But then his hips rock into hers, and yes, that's unquestioningly his erection against her bum. Rose bites her lip to keep from moaning.

"It is," she agrees, pressing back against him. He inhales sharply, still squeezing her with one arm. Then he lets go, his hand running down to the hem of her dress. He lifts it up her leg, fingers trailing delicately in its wake. 

"Is this all right?" he asks, so softly it's hard for even her to hear. All she can do is nod.

She isn't wearing pants; she's run out of clean ones from her rucksack days ago, and the other women don't wear them anyway. The Doctor continues to lift her dress, and she wiggles to help him until it is gathered around her waist. Even as his hand slides down the curve of her bare bum to touch her between her legs, even as she bends her top knee to open for him, she cannot believe this is happening. 

He groans, an almost inaudible rumble in his chest, when his fingers slide between her wet folds. "Yes," he whispers, touching her with sure, deft strokes that leave her clenching her teeth to stay silent. She can only express her pleasure through movement, and she bucks back against his hand.

When he stops touching her, she doesn't have to wonder long; she hears the sound of his zip lowering, and he's shifting around to get clothing out of the way. Then it's the first press of his bare cock against her backside, and she arches and reaches back to touch him directly. He is hard and smooth, and when she cups him with her hand, he whimpers.

There are an awkward few moments as they try to find the right position, the right angle, so he can enter her. Their legs are entangled and he's taken his cock in his hand, rubbing it over her entrance and then pushing with his hips. It takes all Rose's willpower not to cry out as he finally sinks in, and she clutches his thigh, pulling him as deep as he can go. Then they are moving, thrusting, both of them silent but for their quick breaths, and Rose is convinced that everyone can hear the wet pull-push of the Doctor fucking her. 

He clutches her close, his hand sliding down her belly and between her legs, fingers working against her clit. Fleetingly she wishes it could be slower, that she could see his face, but then again this is so perfect that she wouldn't change it for anything. As she comes she keeps silent, but she imagines he can feel the spasms of her muscles around him, and sure enough he begins to move faster, harder, taking and taking and then he shudders. She can feel it along the length of her back, can feel it inside. 

For a long moment they are still, slick with sweat where their bodies are pressed together. Finally he moves, adjusts his hips and his cock slips from her. Rose doesn't know what to do. As with their kiss, she doesn't know what reaction to expect from him. But she's not going to be timid this time, not with his semen wet on her inner thighs, so she rolls over and meets his gaze.

"Hello," he whispers, and she thinks she can see a flash of a smile in the dark.

Rather than answer him in kind, the way she always does, she kisses him. It doesn't feel like a second kiss, not the way their mouths open easily for each other, not the way they move their tongues in a rhythm that feels so perfectly natural. They kiss, in a world of their own under the furs and the bison-skin roof and the billions of stars.


End file.
